Moonlight Serenade
by KendraPendragon
Summary: "This is not the end. I will find you…Every time you'll look up to the moon, so will I. It will guide us through the darkness until we will find each other." - A non-scary sherlollyween story.


A/N: *Dramatic sigh* This is my contribution to Sherlollyween. I was looking so forward to writing something for today, but in the end I threw it all away. This is my final attempt. I tried to focus more on my choice of words, tried to write more beautiful, if you will. I kinda like it, but it might be crap. I am very unsure. So if you have any advice for me, please let me know. I am most grateful for any tips. Anyway, I hope you can like this one-shot. I didn't want to explain everything and just let it flow through your mind like Beethoven's symphony. Let me know what you think. Thanks and I hope you have a wonderful Halloween. :)

Disclaimer: Nothing of BBC Sherlock is mine. Duh!

* * *

_Full Moon. _

_Bright. _

_Clear. _

_Painting the earth with its silver light. _

_Cold. _

_Distant. _

_Yet, so beautiful. _

_Peace. _

_Serenity. _

_Comfort._

_ Love. _

_So much love…_

* * *

I don't know why, but whenever there is a full moon, I find myself staring up at our little illuminated satellite. It doesn't matter where I am or what I do. I don't keep track of its movement, but even when I'm indoors, I can feel when its fully illuminated. It might sound ridiculous, but I feel as if it's calling me to come out and look up at it. And I do. I always do…

It has always been like this. I can't remember a time when I didn't feel drawn to the full moon. And whatever time and wherever I am, as soon as I look up to it, my bustling mind calms down and I feel…something. Deep within me. Feelings you are only able to acknowledge when you are really quite. They are echoes, shadows of what once was…

I feel at peace, melancholic, hopeful and loved. Yes, it sounds strange, but I feel loved when I look up to the silver dish hanging from the sky. And longing. A longing so strong that it made me cry countless of times. I long for this love that has been in my life and isn't anymore. What is even more strange, I don't remember the person who has given me this love. I have no image in my mind, no traces of this person whatsoever and I wonder, how is this possible? How could I forget such a love? Something so deep and true that it warms me even if I stand out in the cold October wind, looking up?

The mystery of my life.

Despite that, I am not much of a mystery. The first person to agree with me on this certainly would be Sherlock. He had deduced my entire life from my clothes, the lines on my face and the way I hold myself the first time we have met. It is fascinating what he is able to see. And shocking what he misses.

Still, I love him. At least, I think I do.

Looking up to the moon and feeling the echo of this long lost love, I can't help to compare those feelings. Sometimes I think they are the same. Then he 'observes' and says those horrible things that hurt so bad I can't move.

I am not sure about Sherlock Holmes, what he is to me and what I am to him.

We are so close at times, brought together by a quiet moment, a shared laugh or only a knowing look. At those rare occasions, I almost feel that he could be the one to give me the kind of love I long for.

And not even a second later he does or says something that makes me shake my head at my only ridiculousness.

Sherlock Holmes, the lover.

The mere thought makes me laugh.

"Molly! The gloves!"

Yes, if he wants something, he knows my name. He is holding his hand out expectantly, not caring to look up from his microscope, this lifeless object he has paid much more attention than me.

I'm so tired of him and myself, lusting after him. This is not what I want. This is not how it's supposed to be.

"I am not your servant, Sherlock."

Damn it, I wish I could talk to this man without my heart beating in my throat, making my voice sound shaky, like I am about to burst into tears any moment.

Ah, I finally have his attention. Gosh, those eyes are beautiful. They scan me quickly and I am almost sure he tries to 'deduce' if I am on my period. Normally, I don't snap at him. Of course it must be the hormones. Of course it must be me. There is no way the great consulting detective does something wrong.

That's right, Mister, I am indeed not on my period.

I can see his brain ticking, most probably paying a quick visit to his mighty mind palace to retrieve information about social behavior.

"Please?"

I snort. Life's too short. I'm tired of lecturing him about how to treat people you care about. So I simply get him his damned gloves.

"You know, for such a brilliant mind, you take an awful long time to figure out how to behave properly."

"Waste of time" he says dismissively.

I really can't stand the way he is still holding out his hand, waiting for the gloves to be placed there by his maid.

Getting angry, I slap them into his palm.

His fingers curl around mine in a second and he holds me in place. A shiver runs down my spine. There is that feeling again. All I want to do for a second is to throw myself into his arms. This is what his touch does to me. Ridiculous.

Yet, my lips part as his eyes fix on me and for a fleeting second I think I see something familiar in them. It makes my heart ache and I yank my hand out his grasp.

"Don't", I say, not sure what I mean. Neither is he, for he asks me what I am talking about.

I am about to apologize but then our eyes meet and there it is again. Pain, anger, sadness, loss, longing. So much bloody longing.

"You know exactly what I am talking about."

And he does. I am sure now. This makes me so angry that I take a step into his direction. His irises dilate instantly.

"All this pulling and pushing is tearing me apart. Either make a decision or set me free."

My body is vibrating with anger and desperation and our eyes melt into each other. Sherlock swallows hard and his fingers twitch, but despite that, he doesn't move.

He is a coward, after all.

I exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding and my anger turns into resignation.

"Good night, Sherlock."

Without another look I leave him, grabbing my things on the way out.

The pain in my chest is killing me and for a second I think I feel tears on my face, but when I touch my cheek, there is nothing. Then I hear a sob and running footsteps, but the hardly lit corridor behind me is empty.

Great, now I am getting mental.

Only one thing helps in such a situation and I hurry upstairs, away from the lab and this man, and step outside, my eyes instantly flying up to the sky.

There it is, some part of it hiding behind a cloud.

My friend. My solitude.

I don't take a taxi tonight, even though it's a long walk to my flat and the wind is tearing at my clothes mercilessly.

As long as the moon is shining down on me, I will be fine…

~oOo~

_"All this pulling and pushing is tearing me apart. Either make a decision or set me free."_

_My hands are shaking and I ball them into fists, the golden band around my left ring finger cold and heavy. I can't breathe in my tight corset but I refuse to pant for air. I won't show weakness, I repeat to myself over and over as I look down on the man sitting at his desk, the beautiful but dead butterfly still in his slender hands. His blue green eyes pierce into my soul while his jaw clenches and his beautiful lips are tightly pressed together. Lips I have only tasted once, so many years ago._

_A veil. A white dress. Red and yellow, green and blue dancing on grey hair. An empty chapel. A preaching voice. A warm hand wrapped around mine. Fingers digging into my skin. Cold lips on mine, sealing my doom. _

_He doesn't answer, his eyes wandering back down. I look at this beautiful dead creature, his multi-colored wings spread out as if it wants to start flying any second. Then a needle is driven through his body, fixating it on a white board. I hear its scream and feel its pain. We are one, this butterfly and I. Dead. Pierced by a cruel man. Unable to fly away…_

~oOo~

The image of the butterfly follows me into reality as I shriek out of my dreams. Clutching my sheets, I am panting for air. Sweat is running down my forehead and my neck. Silver light is pouring through the windows into my room and I drag myself out of bed, my hand pressed onto my chest, and fall on the low bench below the window and star up at the orb, presenting itself strong and bright, all the clouds pushed aside.

Still panting, I reach out my hand to touch the cold window glass. Something at my left ring finger sparkles. Then I blink and it is gone. But I can still feel the weight of the golden band…

What an oddly realistic dream. I've never dreamt so intensely, with so much detail. It lingers in the back of my mind the whole day and when the doors to my morgue burst open, I imagine to see eggshell-colored doors with golden floral ornaments crash into the walls instead and an elegantly dressed man with an embroidered waistcoat storm into the room, who is gone with the blink of an eye. Now Sherlock Holmes stands before me, looking down at me.

Even though I pique myself on being quite an expert in reading Sherlock's face, I am totally at loss now as he looks down on me, his usually light blue eyes dark as thunderclouds. He looks gorgeous and dashing as usual but dishevelled and restless at the same time, like he has been haunted by something or someone.

"Are you all right?" I ask in a whisper, instantly forgetting the disappointment and pain this man brought me.

He steps forward all of a sudden and his big hands lock around my small upper arms and he towers over me, his eyes hastening over my face, searching something.

Slowly, he pulls me closer and closer to him, his grasp around my arms growing tighter.

"You're hurting me", I manage to breathe and place my hands on his chest in a reflex.

Both of us gasp and Sherlock lets go of me as if my touch has burnt him.

So familiar. We look into each other's eyes, stunned and confused and scared. I feel cold and hot at the same time and my heart is beating like crazy.

Sherlock's ever pale cheeks blush and he is panting, just like me. He looks down at his hands next and I follow his gaze.

"What is happening?" he suddenly asks, his head shooting up and his eyes fixating me.

He wants me to answer this question, but I can only helplessly shake my head.

"I don't know."

His brows furrow in anger and he looks at my mouth for a long second before his eyes find mine again.

"Keep your distance", he mutters and hurries out of the lab, leaving me confused if his words have been meant for me or for himself.

~oOo~

_Heat. Smoke. The deafening sound of fire devouring wood. I can't breathe. I can't see. But someone is calling a name. A male voice. Desperate. Frightened. This name… it is mine, yet it isn't now. Still, I pick myself up and follow this voice, flames around me licking the wood, tasting it, consuming it all. Hateful. Merciless._

_The heat burns my hands and I fall down again, my kneecaps almost cracking when they hit the marble floor. Although I can't see it, I know it's marble. Black with fine, white veins._

_My hands reach into the hot smoke, searching hastily for something to hold on to. My head is spinning and I am about to faint._

_I am so scared, my whole body is shaking with fear and I pray to God that he lets me find him in the darkness…_

_There is his call again and I try to reply, but my voice has fallen victim to the hot fumes that invade my throat and lunges every time I draw breath._

_Tears are streaming down my face. They feel cool compared to my heated face. I'll lose him. I'll lose everything…_

_Just as I want to crumble to the floor, his hands find me and they wrap around my back in an attempt to shield me from the fate that is inevitable._

_Yet, I can't help but hope when his lush lips brush against my ear to whisper soothing words. He promises me we will escape this hell and I trust him so much that I believe him. I believe more in him than I believe in God, I realize as he pulls me to my feet and drags me through the deathly darkness._

_His arms are so strong. His stand never falters as he guides me through the dying house which has been my prison and has become a my home._

_We make it to the stairs and as we descend the groaning steps, we escape the heavy smoke and I can see the foyer, shrouded in silver light._

_For one second, I believe that everything will be fine. That we are allowed to live on. That we are allowed to wallow in our new found happiness._

_But then there is that horrible screech, sounding so unholy and demonic that it drives terror into my heart._

_I am being pushed away and he yells that I should run, but my feet never take a step._

_My fragile body is smashed under the weight of the ceiling, yet my head remains intact and I ask myself if my sins are so condemnable that I deserve such a gruesome death._

_While the fire around us is feasting on more and more of the body of wood and stone and my own body is slowly giving up functioning, understanding that the damage can't be healed, I hear his voice once more._

_I can barely hear him through my sobbing and the groaning of our home. He commands me to look at him. I obey. I so often have that I don't even think about it, not even now, a horrible pain shooting through my spine as I turn my head. Silver light is caressing the face I love most in this world, accentuating it in the most flattering way and I can't help but to admire his beauty. In the face of death he is like the moon itself: Pale and transcendentally beautiful._

_It seems wrong to see tears fall from his eyes and all I want to do is to kiss them off his cheeks._

_He whispers that name again and I notice that his hand is reaching out to me. He moans in agony, his body also destroyed, but he doesn't stop until his long, slender fingers wrap around mine. I can't feel it anymore._

_His sobs fill my ears as my heart starts stuttering, slowly losing its fight for life._

_"This is not the end. I will find you…"_

_My eyes move up to his face again._

_"Every time you'll look up to the moon, so will I. It will guide us through the darkness until we will find each other…"_

_I am not sure if those are his words or mine. His lips aren't moving and his eyes don't blink. But the tears are still falling from his lashes and his hand is tightly wrapped around mine._

_My vision is blurred by my own tears and, drawing my last breath, I look up through the burst windows. The full moon is shining down on me. A serene fixed point in this all consuming chaos._

_Another demonic screech._

_The noise is already fading, as is everything else, until there is nothing but silver light in my eyes…_

~oOo~

For the second time in a row, I wake up screaming and sweating. Instantly, I jump out of bed and run over to the window. I press my hands against the cold glass flatly.

I can't see the moon.

Thick black clouds are hiding it from me and a sound of desperation escapes my throat. I need to see it.

All the silent begging is in vain, of course, and after a minute I give up and press my forehead against the cooling surface. My eyes are closed and pictures are flashing in my mind. They are memories that cannot bei mine...and yet they are.

The house, this impressive mansion, pops up repeatedly and my eyes snap open as I – I cannot find another word – 'remember' exactly where it is.

I look up to the sky again, noticing that the clouds have given it back to me. My beloved moon.

My heartbeat instantly slows down and finally, I am astute enough to hear his call. It's time...

* * *

It's the 31st October and the moon basks the ruins I stand before in his cold light. My sweaty palms are pressed against my chest as I take in the scenery, listening to the faint noises of the cracking fire that's been extinguished centuries ago.

Taking a deep breath, I pass the threshold, the doorframe almost burnt down, as is everything else. Only some of the external walls have remained, giving a vague impression of how majestic this residence one has been.

The interior has rotten away or has been reclaimed by nature. There are growing bushes, flowers, herbs, trees and even virgin ivy. It has covered what is left of the grand staircase leading up to the second floor with the expensive black marble floor.

Slowly, I walk through the ruin, accompanied by whispers and faded pictures of a past life, until I reach the fatal spot.

There are tears pricking in my eyes as I look at the moss covered hill that once has been the ceiling of the ground floor, and I wonder if the bones are still buried underneath it.

It is as good a grave as any.

The first tear falls and I turn away to look at the burnt frame of the window, a view that is deeply woven into my soul.

I cry silently for the poor souls that have died here, their lives waisted with pride and fear and bitterness, only granted a heartbeat of happiness before fate has seperated them.

* * *

My tears have long dried and my pale paladin is showering me in his comforting light as I hear footsteps behind me.

My soul whispers his long lost name and I turn around.

He has come.

He has found me.

Just like he has promised.

For the first time in three days, I smile.

I marvel how the silver light bounces off the dark curls as he moves towards me, how the shadows of the mansion's bones reaching up into the sky pass over his beautiful face and how his glasz eyes are glistening with unshed tears. His skin is as pale as the moonlight.

We are drawn to each other like earth and moon and his hands wrap around my shoulders tenderly, slowing pulling me close.

„How is this possible?" he whispers and his deep baritone makes me shiver.

My hands reach up and cup his face, my thumbs brushing over his prominent cheekbones.

The familiarity of this touch is making my heart ache and more tears are running down my cold cheeks as I shake my head.

I have no answer to this. I don't know how, I don't know why. I don't care.

„I have all these feelings...their painful. I have dreams that make me loath myself..."

I shake my head again, the lump in my throat preventing me to speak.

He pulls me against his chest and I bury my hands in his thick black hair.

„Forgive me..." he whispers over and over again as he kisses my forehead, each of my eyelids, my cheeks and finally my lips.

We wrap our arms around the other tightly as our tongues are dancing, no air between our bodies.

Oh, I have kissed him a thousand times. And yet, it will never be enough.

Never have I felt such a need for another human being. Never did I lose myself in my lover, never did I give myself so freely, everything that is me.

As he lays me down in the damp moss and caresses every inch of my body with his hands and his ever so soft lips, I feel complete, for the first time in my life.

His weight on top of me, his arms wrapped around my small frame protectively and my legs tightly wrapped around his waist while he moves, his lips never ceasing to caress.

More tears are shedded. This time, it is because my heart cannot contain the happiness that is blooming within.

This night is a reunion, an end and a new beginning.

This is the nights of spirits.

This is Samhain.


End file.
